St. Văduva's School for Prestigious Girls

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖜𝖔

She was cocooned. Bundled up in a lukewarm blanket that clung to her skin like saran wrap. A thick layer of fog covered her brain as her consciousness began to come back into itself. Temperance attempted to grab hold of the reigns of her mind, but it was like trying to grab onto tendrils of smoke—intangible but within sight.

Her eyelashes fluttered open to see the rippling of water above her. A blinding light shone through and danced along the diamond surface. She exhaled, and a stream of bubbles rose above her like amorphous crystals. Her thoughts passed her by, rushing to break the surface of her mind much like those bubbles. She struggled to hold onto a thought and ride it out of the black mist of her conscious, but it was no use. They escaped her like slippery eels, wriggling through her fingers and disappearing through a vast sea of knowledge.

Until she found a solid thought to dig her heels into. It passed her like a shining beacon, but she dug her claws in deep.

Constance.

Where was she? Where was Temperance for that matter? What happened at the—

The light at the end of the tunnel surfaced as her foggy mind parted to allow consciousness to stream through—

The art show. What happened at the art show?

The little girl with hair like spun gold and eyes like endless pools of fog that had made her feel normal for half of a second — was she a hallucination? She felt so real that Temperance could still picture the sensation of the girl's hands on her face, sending warming vibrations into Temperance's brain and relieving her of the pain that had overtaken her life.

Temperance held on tight to this small semblance of thought and rode it to the surface, the haze lifting and allowing her clarity. The urge to breathe finally won her full attention as she came back into consciousness. Temperance burst forth from the water with a resounding gasp. She coughed violently, beating on her chest with a clenched fist, dislodging particles of water that had seeped in through her nose during her underwater time.

Her stinging eyes darted around, confusion winning over any other current thought. Emerald green bathtub, matching tub and sink, white laminate tile — she was home. She slumped against the porcelain walls of the tub, panting yet relieved.

How long did she lose her memory this time? Days? Weeks? She prayed it was not the latter. She had a hard enough time piecing together events from days of missing chunks of time. Weeks would be impossible to grab ahold of. Hopefully, she did not act like a fool in her time of autopilot. She had only been diagnosed with the tumor for just over a month at this point, and even before then, her memory was lapsing. It was troublesome to have to skirt around conversations and pick up tidbits of information that had occurred during her missing time. It was like putting together a puzzle but the pieces are hidden around like Easter eggs. But she had adapted to steering around conversations that she had no memory of.

Temperance glanced at the cat clock that hung above the door frame. 10:27. And judging by the fact that the light shone from under the door and the faint sound of a TV laugh track, it was likely nighttime.

Constance was likely to come searching for her soon, so she made the decision to leave her quiet sanctuary. Her leaden limbs ached as she forced herself from the lukewarm water. She unplugged the stopper from the drain and noted the itchy sensation prickling along her limbs. Peering down, all she saw were strands of dark brown hair clinging to her like blackened veins wriggling across her body.

Temperance sneered and collected the hairs, scooping as much as she could from the water and her skin and disposing of them in the toilet. She was sick of her hair falling out; sick of teasing it up to mimic fullness; sick of collecting the fallen strands and flushing them so Constance would not be alarmed at the amount of hair that was in the bathtub.